He crosses over to Ayala’s abandoned desk. The map she was drawing from my descriptions is there, but it’s incomplete to the point of uselessness. Incomplete because my eyes were drawn to the other parts of the map. I knew I recognized them, but couldn’t confirm it until I got back to look at the Empire’s official atlases, the ones Ayala borrowed for me.

They’re not as exact as the course drawing, but more than detailed enough to find the strip of mountains I knew I recognized. The course is near the village my cousin Luca lives in. One I know of only because we went in secret to his wedding. His father was a rebel soldier in the war. He acted as a double agent for the Longhands, and the only safe place for people who stood up to the Ashlords in the war is the mountains. If the scales are right, we’re racing half a day’s ride from the Gravitas Mountains. I just wish I’d been as focused on the map as I was on placing the familiar surroundings. Now I’m left with next to nothing.

“Check out these components,” Farian says, whistling from the desk.

He holds up one of the random papers I was handed at tonight’s ceremony. I glanced at it once, but realized not knowing the course’s layout means I don’t even know what alchemy will help me win. I’m riding into the fire of the Races with a few blindfolds on.

“Wow,” Farian says. “They have Ivory of Earl.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I didn’t even think that still existed.”

“Welcome to the Races,” he says. “Some of this stuff is high-end. I bet Martial would kill to get a few of these powders in his stockroom. You have any mixtures in mind?”

Before I can reply, his eyes go even wider.

“They’ve got Kisspowder! No wonder the entry fees are so steep. Five containers of Kisspowder would sell for, what, seventy-five thousand legions? If the entry fee was any lower, you could just sign up and cash out on the components for a profit. I could start my own videography business with that kind of money.”

The idea has my attention, but after a second I shake my head.

“They don’t let you keep components.”

“No?” he asks, still scanning the sheet. “I’ve never seen the officials confiscate them.”

“Rules are on the back,” I reply. “Only the winner keeps what’s left in their belt.”

He makes a thoughtful noise. “Well, you’ll just have to win.”

“Is that all?” I ask. “Would you like me to travel to the underworld afterward?”

He laughs. “Come on, Imelda. This is your chance to make history. And if you don’t, so what? You’re racing in an event that most Dividian will never even come close to seeing.”